The Unwell Davises
by TwilighterRenthead
Summary: When Roger’s parents are killed in a car crash, what will happen to his little sister? And how will she deal with life, love, disease, and meatless balls in New York’s East Village? Couples: Roger/Mimi, Mo/Jo, Mark/OC. T for eventual language.


When Roger's parents are killed in a car crash, what will happen to his little sister? And how will she deal with life, love, disease, and meatless balls in New York's East Village? Couples: Roger/Mimi, Mo/Jo, Mark/OC.

A/N: I know it's an awful title. It's a play on Roger's band name. I don't know if this will be good or not. I'll accept flames, but I don't like them. I don't know if I should continue this, so if you could send me any kind of ideas, I would be eternally grateful. You would receive... a song written for you by Roger, a scarf from Mark, and a hug from Angel! Yay!

P.S. As I am not Jonathan Larson, and I am too old to be Jonathan incarnate, I have two sad words to say: Not mine.

To Gabbie, Mattie, and Megan, for being _my_ sisters, if only in spirit.

The phone rings.

"Speeeeeak." I heard our voices chorus. A woman spoke in a business-like tone.

"This is Holly Jacobs from Child Protection Services. I'm calling for Roger Davis—"

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for Roger Davis."

"I'm Roger Davis."

"I'm calling about your sister, Elaine."

I'm beginning to panic. Elaine is my baby sister, and one of my best friends. I hadn't seen her in two years, but that was my own damn fault.

"I- is- is she OK? Did something happen to her? Is everything a- alright?" I stuttered.

"Calm down, Mr. Davis, your sister is fine. Your father, step-mother, and Elaine's Godparents, were killed in a car accident yesterday. As you are her only family left that is alive and/or deemed capable of raising a child, you are our first choice for a guardian." I could hear the disgust and disapproval in her voice as she went into the fact that I was Elaine's probable future guardian. Mom couldn't take her because of her being an alcoholic. Neither Mom and Dad had brothers or sisters, and all our grandparents were dead or ran away like, 40 billion years ago.

I slid down the wall I had been leaning on.

"Cheryl and Dad and Joe and Marianne are dead?" I gasped.

"Yes," she said in a bored, disinterested manner. "Could you come down to our office in New York City, if you are interested in adopting her?"

How could I say no? She was my baby sister. Mark and I would find some way to make enough money.

"I'll be right down."

"Very well, I'll have her ready to go when you get here."

The line went dead.

"Bye," I muttered. I put the phone back on the hook.

"Who was that?"

I jumped. It was Mark. He must have heard the very end of my conversation. I hadn't realized he had come in.

"Some woman from the Child Protection Services. Apparently, I'm Elaine's only family left. Cheryl and Dad and Joe and Marianne died in a car crash," I said.

"I'm sorry, Roger. God, I never imagined I'd have to be comforting _you _about _them_. I thought it'd be the other way around. This is so screwed up. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah, you know we weren't close. Elaine and I are though."

"That's right, they wanted you to be a doctor."

We laughed together. We both knew I would have the shitiest bedside manner. But it was a hollow laugh. As much as I hated Cheryl and Dad, I still loved them. Well, Dad, at least. Cheryl had done everything in her power to make mine and Elaine's lives miserable. But, they were, after all, my family. But it wasn't as if I had lost Collins, Joanne, Maureen, or, God forbid, Mark, Mimi, or Elaine. They were my real family, the family that was taken away from me at birth.

"I better go pick up Elaine."

"You do that. I'll clear out the room that used to be Collins's. She's not sleeping on the couch and she's not sharing our rooms."

"Thanks, Mark. Be back soon."

I slid open the door and began to head down the stairs. As I passed the apartment below ours on the fourth floor a pair of strong yet slender arms turned me around.

"Hey there, Tiger," Mimi purred. She pulled me down in a kiss. Her mouth moved against mine.

"Mimi," I gasped when she let me breathe. "Mimi, I can't."

"Why?"

"Mimi, I wish I could, but I can't. I have to go pick up Elaine."

"Elaine? Why? Is she OK?"

"_She's _fine. My dad and step-mom and godparents were killed in a car crash. I was their first choice for a guardian," I explained.

"I'm sorry, Roger. I know you weren't close, but I'm sorry. Elaine is coming to live with you and Mark?"

"Yeah," I said. "I gotta go. I'll be back soon. Love you." I leaned down and pecked her on the cheek.

"I love you, too. Bye," she called as I walked away. I waved over my shoulder. I walked down a few more flights of stairs and exited onto the street.

I ran into the subway station and took the first train to where I needed to get. It was only a block from the capital building, so it wasn't hard to find.

As I walked in the door, the secretary behind the desk looked surprised to see me. Maybe it was the long-since-scarred track-marks on my arms, or my plaid pants. Either way, she straitened up in her chair and smiled professionally.

"May I help you?"

"Yeah, um, I'm looking for-" I racked my brains for the name-"Holly Jacobs."

"Your name?"

"Roger Davis."

She turned to a ledger with a long line of names on it. She scanned it briefly.

"Go up to the 15th floor, take a right, then follow the hallway. Mrs. Jacobs' office is at the end of the hall."

"Thanks."

I went into the elevator and pushed the button marked 15. It was a short ride to the top. I walked out of the elevator and went to the oak door at the end of the hall. I considered knocking, put pushed it open without warning to anyone inside.

A slender girl with a semi-shredded white blouse and a black and white pair of shorts sat writing in a maroon notebook. She looked up. Her dirty blonde hair, high cheek bones, and sea-green eyes marked her clearly as a Davis.

"Roger!" She hopped up and ran and took me into a tight hug. "I've missed you so much."

I hugged her back.

"I've missed you too. I'm an idiot...."

"No, you're not." She looked up at me. "You look thin."

"I'm OK."

A pair of heels clicked in, and a woman in a pearl gray suit, gray high heels, and a tight gray bun that pulled back her eyes entered the room.

"Mr. Davis?"

"That's me."

A/N: Uh, oh, cliffy! I know it's an awful title. It's a play on Roger's band name. I don't know if this will be good or not. I'll accept flames, but I don't like them. I don't know if I should continue this, so if you could send me any kind of ideas, I would be eternally grateful. You would receive... a song written for you by Roger, a scarf from Mark, and a hug from Angel! Yay! P.S: I like reviews, and there's pretty green and white button there....


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